Smile, Love by Sare

High-mid female Northern English voice (Yorkshire-leaning), slightly nasal placement, tight mouth consonants, flattened vowels (“love” → “luv”, “you” → “yew”). Delivery is rhythmic and conversational, almost spoken in the verses. Minimal melodic range. No belting. No sustained high notes. No vibrato. No melisma. No American vowel shapes. Keep the accent strong and consistent throughout. Energy is cheeky and dry, not emotional. Slight eye-roll tone. Words hit sharply on the beat. Short phrasing. No glossy pop diva style. Instrumentation: minimal bright synth hook, tight punchy bassline, clean guitar stabs, crisp compact drums. Up-tempo but restrained. Sweet bubblegum production with biting sarcastic lyric delivery. Keep production light and uncluttered. No R&B inflections. No vocal layering choirs. No stadium pop chorus. Keep it Northern, witty, and grounded.

00:00 / 00:00

Your friends are using AiMusic.la to generate music, listen to it! You can also generate your own music!

Lyrics

[Verse 1] Got me lashes combed and boots that hurt, ‘Goin’ out’ dress and make-up overt, Hoyland roots but I scrub up clean, Feel like royalty at half past three. Step outside for a breath of air, There they are in a plastic chair, Beers half-warm and brains half-baked, Howlin’ at me like i’m a dog, for fuck’s sake. [Pre-Chorus] Wolf whistle, dog call, “Smile, love, yeah?” Didn’t ask, don’t care, fuck off with the stare. [Chorus] Oh here we go again, lads on the wall, Thinkin’ they’re dicks are anythin’ but small, Yap-yap-yappin’ like it’s a sport, Chests stuck out, yeah you know the sort. I’ll laugh it off, I’ll toss me hair— But why’s it me who has to care? Bits on show or wrapped up tight, Same old circus every bleedin’ night. [Verse 2] And when I’m not dolled up, not even close, Hair in a knot and a coat that’s gross, Walkin’ to work in the freezing rain, Still get barked at down the lane. Not like I’ve even got anything to shake, Got small tits and a flat arse for fuck’s sake, Still got told what they’d like to do— At twelve years old in school shoes. [Pre-Chorus] “Just ignore it, sweetheart, don’t bite.” Funny how it’s me whose gotta be polite. [Chorus] Oh here we go again, lads on the wall, Callin’ it banter, wasn’t funny as I recall, They paint their mouths bright bloody red, Tryin’ look tough with that shaved head. Seriously, you seen their mouth tattoos? All red like a bumhole, what a view! But I laugh it off, let them have their little games, I’m not a fuckin’ coal-face out there to be claimed. [Middle Eight] New Barnsley boys with their civic pride, Their stupid gang colours and a big-boy stride, Showin’ the world they’re mean and raw— Mate, you do know I’ve seen you before? Back when you worked sweepin’ up the street, Now you’re treatin’ us girls like we’re raw meat, Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t gonna cry, The fucks I have to give are in short supply [Bridge] You lot really aren’t even on my list, And that includes even when I’m pissed, I know you Mutts boys are all gob no bite, So your little pack won’t spoil my night, You can yap till your throats go raw— I’ll push past to go through that door. [Final Chorus] So here we go again, lads on the wall, Flexin’ cos bein’ in a gang is how they feel tall, I raise me brow, I shake my head, not impressed by far You’re not half as brave as you think you are, I don’t dress myself up so you can dress me down, Least I’m not in colours ‘n symbols like a fuckin’ clown, No, no I should take the high road, and just write a song, ‘bout how women should be allowed to just fuckin’ belong. [Outro] Next time you mouth off at somebody’s daughter or sister, Have a good look at the mark and see how far you’ve missed it, Try growin’ up instead of giving it all that It’s pathetic, love, you look like a twat [laughter]